Firefly Veneration

This spring/summer has brought us a very active firefly mating season. In May and June, hundreds of fireflies drift through the nighttime air, flashing their particular species' signal, hoping to find a mate and carry on their species' existence. The males float along, flashing their signal—looking for a female who might respond with a similar flash code from the ground; all driven to mate and procreate.

Over the last few years we've observed a decreasing number of flashes—worrying us about the health of these incandescent beetles. (Yes, they're not a true fly, but a beetle.) Maybe last summer's plentiful rain was favorable to the health of the current generation? In any case, we're thrilled with their plentiful flashing displays this year.

On a recent evening, I was settling into an overnight sojourn in my meditation hut, deeply absorbed by the multiple illuminations of these wee light sources. Many subspecies were active that night, as I observed a wide variety of flash codes—from steady flares of a second or so in duration to twinkles that pulsed several times a second. It was truly mesmerizing.

I had lit my customary candle and set it outside on a statue of the Buddha, when I began to notice several fireflies hovering near the candle. Were they intrigued by its beacon? Did one of them wish to mate with this mysterious and continuous light source?

My mind played with the whimsical possibilities that could be playing out. I began to imagine what might be going on in the minds of these flashing beetles. I fantasized about how they could possibly interpret the light from the candle. They must have been amazed at the strong, unwavering nature of the strange luminescence being emitted by that thing. They may have been thinking: “It's not moving. Could it be a female? Why doesn't it blink? There seems to be something otherworldly about it. It's awe inspiring—almost frightening.”

Then one of the fireflies might have exclaimed that it could be a god. “It doesn't seem threatening, but none of us is able to maintain that steadfast glow. It obviously has superior powers. It must be a god.”

Just then a moth spiraled into the candle, and the fireflies seemed to back off in amazement. “It has to be a god, because we've just watched a sacrifice. Hail to the firefly god!” Many of them moved a little farther away, either out of respect or fear. Some of them flew off at a distance—not wanting their god to witness their lurid mating scenes.

I watched two fireflies that remained. Were they older and wiser? Were they filled with reverence? I imagined the older one predicting that the god's light would soon wink out. He'd seen it before. He knew that some of the younger guys might lose a little faith when that happened, but he also predicted that in another four nights the god would return, radiating its steady, holy beacon. “Keep the faith, brother. Our god will return.”

[Note: My wife and I do an outdoor bath every four days, after which I spend the night in my meditation hut. Thus, the wise firefly elder is right. Another candle will be lit four days from now.]